The conversation drifted to swimming, and basket-ball, and finally to the Girl Scout troop. Ruth could not refrain from telling Marjorie all about the good times that were in store for her.
“But maybe you’ll be a scout before the play comes off, Marj,” she suggested.
“How many more times do you think the troop will take in new members this year?”
“Only once, I guess—but then I’m not sure. But of course nobody can go camping who isn’t at least a second-class scout.”
“Don’t worry about that! If I ever get in, I won’t stop till I’m a first-class scout!” said Marjorie emphatically.
“It would be fun to race to see who won it first, if you were only in the troop,” observed Ruth.
Marjorie folded up her crocheting and looked dismally out of the window. “Sometimes I think I’ll never make it; I don’t know how to work any harder than I did for that last Latin test.”
“Oh, I guess you must have been nervous. I’ll bet you know as much as I do now about prose composition. But you simply lost your head.”
“Maybe I did.”
“Be a sport, and try again—get Jack to help you; he ought to be able to, he’s a year ahead of you.”